


Missed Calls

by nerav



Category: THE iDOLM@STER, THE iDOLM@STER: SideM
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-07 23:19:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15918282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerav/pseuds/nerav
Summary: While Michio is overseas at London for the 'Writing for Someone' shoot, Jiro exchanges calls and feelings.





	Missed Calls

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a Japanese fanfic with a similar premise (but which I never actually read, just a friend summarizing it for me).

Jiro considered himself a simple man. A smile from a fan, a fiddle with his beaker, a perfect test score, food and good wine—and of course, a nice fat wallet—were all it took to appease him. As long as he had one of those, his spirits would be sky high.

But he slowly realized that he was not the sort to stop and smell the roses, even with his pressing age toward the grave. Even if he had all the riches in the world, his strong work ethic would always pressure him to keep going and earn even more. An idle mind, he found, only made him feel older than he actually was. Keeping busy was his way of keeping sane.

So when Michio was selected to be part of a movie event in London, Jiro _thought_ he’d enjoy the break. He _thought_ he could use the time to unwind and focus on himself. With one unitmate missing, the rest of S.E.M. were given the freedom to focus on smaller scale projects during his absence. It was almost like a paid vacation, a well-deserved one, in fact.

With each progressive day, however, Jiro noticed the Michio-shaped hole grow more distinctively. There were no more early wake-up calls from Michio. The hallways were quiet without Michio bombarding him with ideas on how their next performance could improve (mathematically speaking, of course). His yawns were louder than usual, and with little to no work, his mind was often in a fog.

Thankfully, he had one solace at the end of the day. Every so often, he called Michio to check in with him, or even just to hear his voice. With their time zone differences, he could only catch him during evenings where it was morning overseas, so he always called at home, at his own comfort.

Their conversations were often work-related, but occasionally dabbled into their personal lives. After a painfully long, dull day, it was their brief banters that colored life back into Jiro’s gray world. Jiro quickly looked forward to their phone calls every night.

One night, he caught Michio in the middle of his prep work. It was then when Jiro realized that they talked so much about themselves, he forgot about the movie entirely. He didn’t even know what it was about.

“What exactly are you doing again, anyway?” he said, scratching his chin.

“I am playing the role of Philip Miles,” Michio said, matter-of-factually. “He is a curator of machine arts through science fiction.”

“Science fiction, you say?” Jiro laughed. “Casting the math teacher for science… there’s something ironic about that, I’m sure.”

“I agree, I was surprised of Producer’s decision. I even informed him about this possible mistake.”

“You did?”

“Of course. I felt, in order to better convey the character, that you would be a superior option. Your array of knowledge is far greater than my own. It is a simple expression of inequality that I feel would maximize the success of this show.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, blushing. “I’m flattered, but… I’m rather too exhausted to think of the jet lag at the moment. I’ll just let you handle that in my stead.”

“I see… I will not fail you. I’ll do my best.”

“Right,” he felt his lips curling. “I’m sure you would. Anyway, how’s the actual set coming along?”

“It’s going along smoothly. Currently, we are studying on 19th century London culture. I had suggested that we read up these extensive textbooks, so we may fully develop into our characters.”

“Studying?” Jiro raised his eyebrow. “You’re giving those kids homework, even on the job?”

“Of course.”

“ _Excellent_ ,” Jiro murmured. Always a teacher first, an idol second. Jiro loved that about him.

For a moment, he thought he heard Michio almost let out a tiny laugh. Michio cleared his throat promptly.

“Are those kids regretting that they signed up for this job?” Jiro said.

“Not at all. Kitamura- _kun_ , Tsukumo- _kun_ , and Kiyosumi- _kun_ are all very excellent pupils, and had little trouble keeping up with our reading material. Watanabe- _kun_ , unfortunately, seems to be taking it slower than the rest. I am unsure if it’s related to his education….”

“Huh. I’m a little surprised.” He let out a small sigh. “I guess our youth is keeping up faster than I expected. Not even more Watanabe- _san_ can keep up….”

“It is with good fortune, however. It is up to us elders to hope that they achieve even higher than us.”

“Of course,” Jiro said, nodding intently. “Then, as an ambassador from us teachers, I’m counting on you. Bring in that school pride.”

“I won’t let any of us down, including myself.”

Jiro laughed again.

He was ready to finish off their convo, heat up his food and get ready for bed. But suddenly, he felt no rush to turn off the phone. Something bubbled in his throat and pressed him to go on. There was more that needed to be said, even if he wasn’t sure what exactly it was.

He swallowed hard, looking down at his legs. “Actually, Hazama- _san_ ,” he began. As soon as he did, he stopped himself.

“Yamashita- _kun_?”

Jiro froze, caught with his pants down. What was there to really say?

That he missed him?

That he wished he could see his face again?

That he loved their conversations and hope to hear his voice more?

Or perhaps, all these mushy feelings recently implied… that he _loved_ him?

No, no. That’s not it. This was not some manga, with the heartfelt confession from the schoolgirl underneath the cherry blossom tree.

He was an old man. He had no time or energy for one-night stands or marriages. Whatever flighty feelings he had were merely some temporal chemical imbalance in his system—and nothing more.

He was sure Michio felt the same also. At least, he hoped that was the case.

“Ahh,” Jiro mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothing. Don’t mind me.”

“I see….” Michio’s voice had a faint hint of suspicion.

Jiro quickly changed the subject from the awkwardness. “Anyway, it’s pretty late over here… I’ll be getting some shut-eye soon.”

“Of course. In the GMT+1 zone, in accordance with the daylight savings time, there is approximately an eight-hour difference between us. It is most definitely late for you, Yamashita- _kun_.”

“You could have just looked it up, you know,” Jiro chuckled. “Well… better get to it then.”

“I hope you have a well adjusted sleep, Yamashita- _kun_. Good night.”

Jiro smiled. “You as well. Good night.”

He clicked off the call. He reclined down on the futon and let out a big sigh. In spite of the friendly banter, somehow, Jiro felt even worse that night.

 

* * *

 

Winter was still in the air, despite the approaching spring. Though the days became brighter, the atmosphere still felt desolate and lonely. It almost as if time had stopped as soon as Michio left Japan.

Once Jiro stepped back home, he thought of ringing up Michio once more. He put his coat away, and got himself comfortable while his phone buzzed. It vibrated over and over.

Michio didn’t answer this time.

Jiro shrugged it off, and called again. Still no answer.

He opted for a third time. The only voice he heard was Michio’s voicemail system, once more.

He blinked, bewildered. It was rare for Michio not be attentive of his belongings. Even when he was so busy, Michio would always respond promptly and affirmatively to every call as if it were a business matter.

Still, he didn’t think too hard. Perhaps he just called at a bad time, most likely with Michio being on set. He would just have to try calling again later.

A day passed, then another, and another. Michio still did not pick up, even after numerous attempts. What could be the matter?

Jiro wondered, smirking wryly, maybe Michio caught a fling while he was overseas? Western women were pretty attractive, after all. And yet, despite chuckling at the mere notion, at the same time, the thought ached him.

Another thought crossed his mind, more ominous than the last: what if their last conversation somehow rubbed Michio off? What if Michio got the hints of his feelings for him, and therefore, put Jiro at a distance?

Swallowing up his qualms, he tried calling day by day. On perhaps the tenth day he called, finally, the phone clicked. Jiro sighed in relief.

“Ah," he said, laughing softly, "Hazama- _san_. You almost gave this old man a heart attack. What’s with the silence lately?”

“Jiro?”

Jiro widened his eyes. That definitely wasn’t Michio’s voice. It was light, airy, almost effeminate. And with that address, there was only one person who would refer to him in that matter casually.

“Watanabe- _san_?” he gasped. “Is this some surprise? Where’s Hazama- _san_?”

Minori didn’t respond right away. There was a brief, uncomfortable silence, until he finally spoke up. “I’m really so sorry to be saying this, but….”

“But, what?”

“There was an accident on set. One of the props for the monsters fell loose, and a few people were injured.”

Jiro swallowed hard. He had a sinking feeling he knew the answer by just the state of their conversation alone. Still, he had to ask the begging question anyway. “Who—”

“Michio- _san_ —”

Jiro let out an incredulous gasp.

“Michio- _san_ ,” Minori continued, “he’s in the hospital right now. I’m bringing his supplies to him as we speak.”

Jiro’s heart stopped. He didn’t hear whatever Minori said after that. All he could hear was the pounding of his heartbeat against his ears. His hands were full of so much sweat that his phone threatened to slip from it.

This couldn’t be happening. He hoped this was just one horrible nightmare. Any minute, he’ll wake up and go to work to see Michio’s shining face.

When it didn’t happen, he felt sick to his stomach.

He needed to see him. It didn’t matter the time, or even the price. He was going to fly straight to London, even if it killed him. Without even packing, he threw on his coat and marched outside.

Even the frigid conditions outside didn’t waver him. He ignored his surroundings entirely. Minori’s words continued to haunt his mind and guided his feet through the crowded streets as he made his way toward the airport.

Suddenly, as he crossed the street, he heard a familiar, light voice. “ _Mister_ Yamashita!”

Gaping, he looked to his side and saw Rui just turning the corner, carrying a few bags. Though Jiro’s face was most likely grave, Rui’s sunny disposition didn’t change, even when he rushed up to him.

“ _So nice to see you!_ ” Rui chirped, smiling. He lifted his arms, showcasing the stuffed shopping bags linked at his biceps. _“_ Are you also shopping for _Mister_ Sakaki’s birthday? Can I join you?”

__

“Rui,” Jiro said, grimacing. “Sorry, I don’t have time. I need to go to the airport.”

His eyes widened, sparkling his pupils. “ _Oh wow! So amazing!_ You’re going on a surprise vacation too, _Mister_ Yamashita?”

“I wish," he murmured, eyes downcast. "It’s about Hazama- _san_. He’s being hospitalized right now.”

“Oh….” All the excitement slowly melted off Rui’s face. He lowered his arms, placing the bags at his sides. “Is he alright?”

“I think he’s stable, but… I’m going to see him anyway. Anyway, I need to catch the earliest flight so—” He turned to leave.

“ _Wait!_ _Stop!_ ”

He froze his tracks.

“If _Mister_ Hazama is stable, you don’t need to go anywhere then!”

“But I _need_ to go.”

“Why?”

Jiro frowned. Even he didn’t know why exactly.

“ _It’s okay!_ ” Rui said, his smile returning. “ _Mister_ Hazama is very good-hearted. If he sees you wasting money just to see him, he’ll only feel worse to worry you like that.”

Jiro couldn’t retort.

He looked Rui straight in the eye. Somehow, his optimism was slowly rubbing off on him. Though his fears were not fully quenched, he wanted to believe in Rui’s confidence. If Michio was truly all right, he shouldn’t make trouble for everyone else by flying over there.

“Thanks,” Jiro sighed, making a tiny smile. “You saved me from making a terrible—and expensive—mistake.”

“ _No problem! Oh, I know!_ Now that we’re here, we should go get some coffee together.”

Jiro smiled sheepishly. “Ahh… Maybe if we split the costs then.”

 

* * *

 

Days passed. Jiro kept checking his phone, hoping Michio—or even Minori or Producer—would answer. He didn’t hear a word from anyone. The longer the silence, the more he slowly regretted relenting his flight earlier.

Eventually, he received good news, though through Ken: Michio had recovered, and the production continued with great success. The others would be flying shortly in a day or two.

Jiro let out the heaviest sigh of relief.

Their plane arrived in the evening. Since it was late, the others would just head straight home instead of reconvening at 315 Productions. Jiro could finally have a peaceful rest; tomorrow, he will definitely need to speak to Michio, however.

But the plans suddenly changed when he heard his doorbell ringing. Removing himself from his futon, he groggily opened the door, not even checking who it was.

It was Michio. He was still in his suit, as if he never even went home and changed his wardrobe. His usual taciturn expression looked quite stern, though his pupils were softened. He was unfazed showing off all his bandaged wounds in Jiro's presence.

“Hamaza- _san_ ,” Jiro gasped, eyeing the wraps near his neck. They looked deep. “It’s late… Nice to see you, but can we talk in the morning?”

“Yamashita- _kun_ ,” Michio said, frowning. “Forgive me, but I must speak with you right away. May I please come in?”

Jiro scratched the back of his head. “Ah… Nothing’s gonna change your mind, huh? Alright….”

He stepped back in, allowing Michio to enter. Michio removed his shoes and placed them aside. Rather than sit comfortably however, he stood militant and waited for Jiro to close the door behind them.

They looked at each other in awkward silence for a while. Almost as if they were waiting for the other to break the ice. Jiro suddenly felt anxious.

“Yamashita- _kun_ ,” Michio began, swallowing hard, “I… I apologize for not responding to your seventeen numbered calls. It was very unprofessional of me to not have anyone notify you promptly for the reason why.”

Jiro clenched his fists. Frowning, he approached Michio.

Michio faltered back, almost like a frightened animal. The sickly palish look was more noticeable under the lamp-light. He cleared his throat and fixed his posture, looking more assertive now. “I understand that you have every right to be indignant of my behavior, and—“ He dipped his head low in a bow. “Please deeply excuse me.”

Once Michio rose back up, Jiro pulled Michio into his arms.

“Y-Yamashita- _kun_ ,” Michio gasped, widening his eyes. A faint blush colored his cheeks.

“I’m not that jaded, you know?” Jiro sighed. “That’s the least of my worries. I’m just… glad you’re alright.”

“But….”

Jiro closed his eyes, humming into his hair. He reflected. “When I heard something happened to you, it made me realize something: I started to really miss our calls, your voice, and… well, _everything_ , really.”

“I-I do not understand….”

“Believe me, I don’t get it myself. I think this kind of feeling is something even we as teachers can’t explain with hard sciences."

"That's quite troubling...."

"Yeah... But it still feels logical, somehow. Like maybe… I really want to never be apart with you again, or feel that fear of you being alone. Maybe,” he grinned weakly, “maybe this old man can feel like a kid again, confessing underneath a cherry blossom tree.”

“Yamashita- _kun_ ….”

Michio grew quiet. He slowly unraveled himself from Jiro’s arms, stepping back slightly. He looked dumbfounded, as expected. Jiro knew Michio would not reciprocate that rather indirect love confession, or maybe it just flew over his head in the first place. Even if he didn’t, just letting it out made breathing easier.

“Yamashita- _kun_ ,” Michio tried again, with more affirmation. “I still do not understand any of this.”

Jiro felt a tiny bit of heartbreak at those words. He tried not to let it show on his face.

“But,” Michio continued, “I am… always willing to learn from others. There is still so much to learn, after all.”

Jiro blinked. Was Michio basically saying that he was…?

Michio clasped his hands with Jiro, smiling warmly. “Whatever this is, sounds… fascinating, and I look forward to understanding and studying upon this. Together.”

Jiro felt his heart burning. He probably had the goofiest smile on his face as well, but he didn’t care. He squeezed his grip on Michio’s hands tighter.

“Let's work hard then,” Jiro said.


End file.
